Cold Comfort
by D. Franks
Summary: Castle's publishers are concerned that the new book is behind schedule. Gina comes to see him, and finds it's worse than she imagined. On permanent hiatus. What I was going to write here was covered with much more accomplishment in the finale.
1. Chapter 1

**Cold Comfort**

**Right, so I was going to include Gina in my other story, Realizations, but realized she doesn't fit there anymore, so I thought I'd have a bash at writing her here. Don't worry, I don't intend to abandon the other one. This one might be a bit more angsty, though.  
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**Spoiler for the finale, though again, anyone who's read any articles about it, or seen the promo photos will already be aware of it.**

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The ringing sound just wasn't going to go away. It seemed to be getting louder now, penetrating even the fuzzy, muddled mess that was currently Rick Castle's mind.

He flailed his arm around on the hard, flat surface he was currently slumped across, and struck something. The crash of the object hitting the floor roused him completely from the stupor he'd been wallowing in. He glanced around, blearily, and looked for the source of the noise. His desktop lamp was lying on the floor, bulb shattered. _Must have hit it_, he registered, but that piercing ringing was still sounding.

Blinking rapidly to adjust to the daylight shining in through the uncovered windows, he saw his phone perched precariously on his desk, the vibration function inching it closer and closer to the edge. He reached out, grabbing it before it could fall, and peered at the display. A chess piece against a red background. _Gina. Great. _He sighed heavily and realized he'd have to answer. She never bothered him now unless it was important.

Taking a deep breath, he hit the button and raised the phone to his ear. "Gina, hi." His voice was rusty, his throat dry. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Did you leave something here when you took the rest of my stuff?"

"Rick, I'm not in the mood for your jokes right now," came the impatient voice of his ex-wife, distorted slightly by the phone speaker. "You've not given us an update on the book in weeks, and I have to say, people are getting a little bit nervous. Now tell me you don't have writer's block again."

"Writer's block? Me? Don't be ridiculous," he sputtered, trying to avoid looking at the almost blank word document that had flashed up when his movement had taken his laptop off standby. That was supposed to be chapter 6 of Naked Heat, his follow up to the best selling novel, Heat Wave. Things were not going well.

"Don't give me that tone, Richard. I know you well enough to know when you're full of it." He winced as he realized she really wasn't playing around. "Listen, I'm coming round now to take a look at your progress, so you'd better have something to show for Black Pawn's money, or at least a damn good excuse." She hung up, without allowing him to get another word in.

_Damn, _he thought, morosely, _I really don't have either of those things for her. And I'm not up for a fight, right now._ He'd had yet another seriously crappy day, yesterday. He was feeling more and more out of the loop at the precinct, as Beckett chose to spend time with her new boyfriend. Ryan and Esposito tried to include him as much as possible, but it just wasn't the same, and he still felt like a third wheel of sorts. Those two had such a close working relationship that he felt like he was intruding, even as they assured him he wasn't.

Beckett didn't seem to care too much what he did, at the moment. The case they'd just solved had been related to an investigation ongoing in Robbery, so of course, Beckett decided they needed input from a Robbery Detective, and guess who she picked? He groaned, and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Gina was on her way here. Now. Rick glanced down at himself and wrinkled his nose. Yes, he looked like he'd slept in his clothes, mainly because he had. He'd tried to sit down and write something when he got in, but no words had come. None at all. It had been the same way for a couple of weeks now, and he was starting to get concerned.

_Well, I reckon I've got enough time for a quick change of clothes before my dressing down._ He smiled slightly at the pun, and headed for his bedroom. Luckily, Alexis was staying with her friend Lacey's family in the Hamptons for the week. She wouldn't enjoy having to talk to Gina any more than Castle would.

Rick was just coming back down the stairs again, freshly attired, when the buzzer went at the door. She'd obviously called from the cab on the way over. It was just like her to try and catch him off guard like this. He went to the door, and opened it, stepping back quickly as his ex-wife barreled in without preamble, looking around the loft, before fixing her implacable gaze on him. "Looking to see if you interrupted anything?" Rick asked, acidly.

"No." She said, shortly. "It's entirely up to you what bimbos you choose to screw. I'm here to talk about business." Without further ado, he led her to his office.

"I think I have to confess," he started, hesitantly, "It's not going well. I'm not… not writing well." He looked around, expecting to see fury on her face, but what he did see unnerved him even more. Concern.

"Rick, what's going on?" Gina asked, her voice softer now, but no less demanding. "You look dreadful. Have you been sleeping? Eating enough?" She took a step towards him, but he held up a hand, warding her off.

"I'm fine." She looked at him skeptically. "Really, I am. OK, so I am having a little trouble sleeping, but nothing major."

"Except that you're not writing." She added, still with that look of worry etched on her face. "I thought you had your new muse. What's her name? Baxter?"

"Beckett." Rick corrected, testily. "And she's not my muse, she just… gave me the idea."

"But you're still researching her, though, right? Still spending time the police precinct?" She waited for his nod, before continuing, "How much time? Once a week? Twice?" Her eyes had narrowed slightly, her suspicions clearly growing. When, instead of answering, he looked sheepishly at his desk top, she clearly guessed the answer. "Oh, Rick. Every day? No wonder you're struggling to write! You've given yourself a full time job, which they don't pay you for, by the way. What are you thinking?"

He tried to defend himself. "I enjoy it. Investigating real cases, catching bad guys. And it's doing some good too."

"Yeah, except it's sabotaging your real job."

"It's helping my real job. I get new stuff to work with all the time. Watching how Beckett deals with victims' families, suspects, watching how investigations are really carried out, from the ground up. I've learned so much." He was being honest now, though he barely considered any more how to incorporate the things he saw into his writing.

"Really." Gina said, as if coming to some sort of conclusion. He nodded, and she kept her eyes on his face as she said, "Well, in that case, I think that Black Pawn needs to take an interest in this, too. You are, after all, a major investment for the company. I want to see just what it is you spend all day doing with your Detective Beckett." She looked more than a little pleased with herself, now. "Are you going down there today? Of course you are." Her smile was as self satisfied as he'd ever seen it as she added, "I'm coming with you."

Rick gulped, dreading the day now more than he possibly could have before, when Tom Demming was the only thing he had to worry about. "OK, then" He sounded just as nervous as he felt, "Let's go, I'm sure everyone will be delighted to meet you."

"Good." Gina's predatory smile widened. "Maybe we can also see whether this Detective Beckett is actually part of the problem, rather than part of the solution."

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**TBC**

**Please review.  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

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Rick sat quietly in the back of the taxi, trying to pretend he was completely comfortable with the person sitting next to him. He glanced over at her, and she smiled pleasantly in response, which only unsettled him further. Since their divorce a little over two years ago, Rick's relationship with Gina had been more than a little strained. They really only spoke to each other now because she worked for his publisher.

The last things he'd come to expect from her were the apparent concern and empathy she'd shown back at the loft, and now she was smiling genuinely, as if she actually wasn't unhappy to be in his company. He studied her carefully, trying to spot any of those subtle signs that had always been his warning to hide in his office and close the door, before she lashed out. There were none.

"What are you looking at, Richard?" She enquired, eyes wide and guileless.

"Nothing," He answered, hastily. "Just wondering whether you don't have more important things to do than chaperone me."

"Well, you are important, Rick," She smiled again. "To Black Pawn, anyway. If you're wasting your time to the extent that it's impacting on your ability to satisfy our contract, we need to know about it."

Rick sighed, realizing that the truth, or at least a heavily modified version of the truth, was needed. "It's not spending time with the NYPD that's the problem, it's the characters."

Gina frowned at him, clearly surprised that he'd admit this. "The characters? But they're your characters, Rick. You created them."

"I know, but… It's difficult to explain. I guess I'm just struggling to understand Nikki Heat, what motivates her. And Rook just isn't making sense to me at all any more." If he was truly being honest, he would have confessed that Rook embarrassed him. He'd written him into the story almost as a way to needle Beckett, to have a bit of fun with her. Showing her on the page all the fun they could have in real life if she'd only ease up a bit. The joke didn't seem so funny, now. For one, he knew her a lot better, and respected her so much that the treatment he'd given Heat in the first book didn't sit quite so well with him. And second, she had a boyfriend now, much to Rick's chagrin.

It just didn't seem right to write about his alter ego romancing Beckett's now Tom Demming stood between them. It felt juvenile, callow. Rick had been looking back over his relationship with Beckett, and was coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that much of his behaviour with her had been juvenile.

Gina interrupted his ruminations, "Rook isn't making sense? He's based on you, Rick." She fixed him with a critical eye. "God knows, I had enough trouble understanding you, but I thought that at least you had a good handle on it."

He grimaced. "I just mean, I don't think the character makes sense as part of the story any more." He looked over at her, meeting her gaze directly. "I'm thinking of writing him out."

Gina looked back at him, clearly not sure what to make of this declaration. "Write him out, how? Like you did Derrick Storm?" She waited for his hesitant nod. "Don't you think that's a little unhealthy, Rick? Writing your own death?"

He exhaled heavily, frustrated. "It's not _my_ death, it's Rook's." Rick was struggling to articulate what he meant, which certainly wasn't usual for him. "Look, don't you think writing a character based on me is a little, well, arrogant?"

She answered with a short, harsh laugh. "Rick, of course it's arrogant. Which is why it's something you would do." He felt stung by that, but she went on, without noticing. "Anyway, I quite like Jameson Rook. He's like a version of you that I can fold up and put away when I've had enough."

"Your favourite sort of man." Rick couldn't resist the jibe.

He knew he should have, when he saw the cruel little expression that formed on her face. "If you want to kill Rook, fine, do it. In fact, kill any characters you're not capable of writing at the moment. Just get the damn book finished."

_Well, so much for empathy and compassion, _he thought, ruefully. Luckily, he was saved from having to form an answer by the taxi driver, telling them they'd arrived. Rick hurriedly paid the man, and clambered out of the cab, glad to be out of there before the conversation got any more barbed. Gina looked up at the precinct building doubtfully.

"Charming architecture." She scoffed, "Though I suppose exterior design isn't particularly high on their list of priorities." She looked at him again, in that same direct manner that had once caused his heart to speed up, "Lead on, Mr Policeman." She was suddenly playing the coquette again. Rick was struggling to keep up with her mood swings.

Out of habit, more than anything else, he held out his crooked arm, and Gina slipped her own into it, and smiled up at him, almost shyly. _Is she flirting with me?_ He wondered, amazed. He'd always had to watch his step, adapting to her quicksilver moods, but this was disorienting, even by her standards.

He escorted her into the precinct, smiling disarmingly at the uniformed officers manning the doors. They knew him, but were clearly startled to see him escorting a stunning blond as though he was attending a film premiere. Gina garnered those looks wherever she went, though. She exuded this air of amazing competence and capability that made her stand out, just as much as her looks did. It was why he'd fallen for her in the first place. He'd often reflected, with varying degrees of bitterness, at how he could have been so stupid, but he had to concede that she was still immensely attractive to him, for those same reasons. Even after everything that had happened.

She stayed pressed to his side all the way across the lobby to the elevators at the back, only letting go of him when he needed his hand free to press the button for the 6th floor, Homicide Division. He tried not to look at her as the elevator climbed, but couldn't resist. His eyes slid over to her, and saw that she was smiling to herself, secretly pleased at something. _That's never a good sign, _he considered. When Gina was smiling like that, you'd be safer trapped in a swimming pool with a crocodile. He swallowed, and tried to preoccupy himself, fiddling with his hair in the mirrored elevator wall.

He had to figure out what her angle was before it was too late. Though, judging from the satisfied expression on her face, it might already be.

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**So, this was a fairly short one, but I'm undecided on whether to switch POVs for this one. I don't want to write too much until I've made up my mind.**


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